


i feel like i win when i lose

by flooruh



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, Gen, M/M, Relationship Study, Tokyo 2020 Summer Olympics, i actually cannot believe i wrote 3.5k words wow. i have peaked, not beta read i live on the edge, written in lowercase jsyk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:01:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26604139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flooruh/pseuds/flooruh
Summary: tooru is feeling pretty good about himself. he’s at the 2021 olympics, he’s the starting setter for argentina, and he is completelydestroyingjapan’s national team. when they call for tobio to switch out, tooru can practically feel the gold medal around his neck already.then japan does the impossible. they send out someone who is as physically overpowering as ushiwaka, as oppressively perfectionistic as tobio, as casanova charming as tooru himself.they send out miya fucking atsumu.(or: tooru and atsumu meet on the olympic court. one walks away with the gold medal and one walks away with a date.)
Relationships: Miya Atsumu & Oikawa Tooru, Miya Atsumu/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 29
Kudos: 258





	i feel like i win when i lose

**Author's Note:**

> i love oikawa and i love atsumu so by the transitive property they must hate each other :)  
> im kidding i think they would kind of like each other. maybe
> 
> also the title is from waterloo by abba !!!  
> i just love abba n i think the song is nifty n it fits them

tooru is feeling pretty good about himself. he’s at the 2021 olympics, he’s the starting setter for argentina, and he is completely _destroying_ japan’s national team which just so happens to consist of both of the people behind his childhood inferiority complex. ushiwaka might be the unstoppable force and tobio the immovable object, but here tooru is, forcing ushiwaka into a corner and moving tobio around the court like a marionette doll. the look of pure frustration on their normally stoic faces has tooru childishly giddy, and when japan calls for tobio to switch out, tooru can practically feel the gold medal around his neck already.

then japan does the impossible. they send out someone who is as physically overpowering as ushiwaka, as oppressively perfectionistic as tobio, as casanova charming as tooru himself.

they send out miya fucking atsumu.

tooru knows who he is. of _course_ tooru knows who he is. even if he hadn’t stayed up every night researching all the representatives of japan’s national team since their roster was announced, he would have known who miya atsumu is.

what he knows is this: miya atsumu is part of an elite group of players that volleyball fans have affectionately nicknamed “the monster generation,” the very same group of players that ushiwaka and tobio happen to be a part of. oikawa tooru is not a part of this elite club despite being born within the specified time frame of this so-called generation of three years because of a technicality that is never-actually-making-it-to-nationals. but that’s okay, you know, it’s not like he’s still upset about it or anything, of course not.

what he knows is this: miya atsumu is a dual—no, _tri_ — wielder. meaning he can use two—no, _three_ — different kinds of serves. spike, float, and some weird combination of the two that tooru has only ever seen on video and has yet to pull off himself. oikawa tooru can only use two serves, a feat that is surely impressive if you ignore the fact that those two serves that took him years to fully master were perfected by a high school second-year miya atsumu nearly a decade prior. but it’s not like tooru’s keeping count, you know, and people improve at different speeds, after all. yep.

what he knows is this: miya atsumu, _second-year_ miya atsumu, was deemed best high school setter in all of japan. in all of fucking japan. as a second-year. oikawa tooru had scoffed when he read about it in an issue of volleyball monthly and then promptly shut up when he saw the miya twins complete a near perfect replica of karasuno’s infamous quick attack on the spot. atsumu had set it so effortlessly, as though it was as simple as stabbing a straw through the plastic seal of your milk tea. oikawa tooru has never been able to do so without pressing too hard and having all the tea leak out of the top. he also has never been able to do that set.

what he knows is this: if, by some miracle, he had beaten tobio, had beaten ushiwaka, had made it to the nationals stage back then, miya atsumu would have _slaughtered_ him on that court.

well, that’s fine. let him win the hypothetical, parallel-universe situation. but here and now, on the international stage, tooru is going to wipe the floor with him.

miya atsumu struts onto the court, raucous cheering from the crowds greeting him. it’s the first time tooru has been able to get a good look at him, the olympic village being too crowded and the atmosphere too tense to really just sit down and meet anybody, let alone properly learn their name and assign it to their face. but the second atsumu locks eyes with him from across the court, tooru immediately hates him. it’s not an unfamiliar emotion, seeing as there are two other people who also happen to be on the other side of the court that elicit the same reaction from him. but the worst part about ushiwaka and tobio is that they are rarely intentionally arrogant, but in fact, almost _stupidly_ humble about their natural talents. that is not the case with atsumu, however. one look at him and tooru can tell that not only does this guy _know_ he’s ridiculously talented, but he’s also the type that won’t rest until he hears you admit it.

it pisses tooru off beyond belief.

“so yer the infamous oikawa tooru, huh?” atsumu shouts at him from across the court. the smile gracing his face is as comforting as a silver medal.

tooru matches it with a smile that iwaizumi would surely yell at him for. “that would be me!” he pauses for half a second then adds, “and you’re tobio’s benchwarmer?”

atsumu’s smile drops. tooru’s smile widens.

and iwaizumi says his smiles aren’t genuine.

>>>>>

atsumu knows who oikawa tooru is. of _course_ atsumu knows who he is. he might not have known back in high school, but he definitely knows who he is now.

according to kageyama tobio, oikawa tooru taught him how to serve. yep, you heard that right atsumu, _that_ kageyama tobio. you know, the one that is currently the top server in all of japan despite not having three different serves in his repertoire. sure, he scored, like, five service aces in a row against france when he was, what, nineteen, but that doesn’t mean anything, atsumu can _totally_ —

according to ushijima wakatoshi, oikawa tooru was good enough to play alongside him as shiratorizawa’s starting setter. as in, ushijima wakatoshi told atsumu that himself. as in, it’s not just a rumor, it’s a _statement_ from one of the most infamous aces of their generation. possibly soon-to-be of the world. and oikawa tooru _turned him down_.

according to hinata shouyou, oikawa tooru is _an amazing setter!!!_ and _one of the greatest players he knows!!!!!!_ among other niceties that atsumu is choosing to omit for time and not at all because of his own pride. so his very own spiker thinks oikawa tooru is one of the greatest setters of all time. at least shouyou was kind enough to also say so in front of tobio. the sour look that crosses tobio’s face is almost enough to sweeten atsumu’s own.

tragically, though, shouyou’s right. oikawa tooru _is_ an amazing setter. atsumu can see that much from the sidelines and he can only imagine what being on the receiving end of one of those serves must be like. but it’s not just his obvious skill that has atsumu horribly jealous. it’s the fact that he went all the way to the other side of the world, alone, even got naturalized, all so he could stand opposite everyone he couldn’t beat before and announce to all of japan, to all of the world, to god himself: _i’m going to win this time._ atsumu is fuming. it’s just— just so—

_cool._

atsumu is going to go insane. he’s so jealous. it’s silly, but seeing oikawa break apart team japan’s carefully curated camaraderie with a smile as sharp as a dagger and eyes as ambitious as gold makes atsumu want to do it too. atsumu is bold, but he never was _that_ bold. but now that he’s seen the impossible in action, he wants to go to mars. he wants to form an intergalactic team of volleyball players and come back to earth, to japan, and completely destroy the best players he’s ever known with a bunch of alternate life forms. he wants to earn the right to shout to the heavens above that he’s the greatest setter the entirety of space and time will ever witness. he’s nearly shaking with excitement, and he can feel himself grinning like a madman.

he wants to play.

twenty seconds later, and oikawa tooru grants him his wish. he forces tobio off the court, and drags atsumu on. atsumu locks eyes with him from across the net, and finds he’s staring at a mirror image of himself. it’s not like how it is with osamu. atsumu doesn’t look anything like oikawa, with his careful cowlicks and plastered smile. atsumu is too brash to be careful, too blunt to play pretend. physically and fundamentally, they are nothing alike. and yet, they are exactly the same: selfless and selfish, restless and hungry.

if atsumu doesn’t beat him, he’s going to die.

then oikawa opens his mouth and atsumu decides that if he doesn’t beat him on the court, he is going to murder him off of it instead.

tobio, ushijima, and shouyou were all wrong. oikawa tooru isn’t incredible. as far as miya atsumu is concerned, oikawa tooru is a fucking asshole. well, if that’s the way he wants to play this game, atsumu’s not one to back down from a challenge.

“tobio’s benchwarmer, huh?” atsumu hums. “guess you would know a thing or two ‘bout that, right?”

the look oikawa sends him could cause frostbite. the look atsumu sends back single-handedly tears a new hole in the ozone layer.

>>>>>

tooru doesn’t mean to laugh. he really doesn’t. honest! but the way atsumu raises his hand to demand absolute silence during his serve is just _so_ funny. the ego, the _audacity_ — it’s just too much, he can’t help it. he doesn’t think he’s ever met someone so bold, and tooru happens to be intimately acquainted with hinata shouyou himself. laughter bubbles out of him, barely containable. his teammates are giving him weird looks and he has half a mind to worry about how he looks like a complete fool on international television, but then he remembers that atsumu and his silly serve routine look stupider than he ever could and he can’t stop a giggle from escaping.

then the ball flies past him so fast that by the time tooru turns his head to follow it, it’s already hit the ground, his teammates in disarray from trying to receive it. he stops laughing. miya atsumu just took a point from them. no, miya atsumu just managed to take a point from _him_. not from argentina, but from him, _tooru_. the scoreboard: argentina whatever, japan who cares. the scoreboard in tooru’s mind: atsumu 1, tooru 0. he feels stupid for not realizing it sooner; this isn’t just a game between argentina and japan, this is a war between tooru and atsumu.

tooru is well past the age of thinking a game is played by himself. he knows he has a team he can rely on. but he also knows that that serve was meant for him. not literally, because setters aren’t able to receive serves after all, but he knows that serve was meant to issue a challenge. that serve was between him and atsumu. atsumu, who was not only the best high school setter in all of japan, but the best server too. atsumu, who can set a ball just as well as he can serve. atsumu, who is not tobio’s benchwarmer, not really, but someone who was good enough to play as a setter for japan, someone who japan can rely on when their favorite slips up.

and tooru is just tooru, a no-name setter as far as japan is concerned, who somehow managed to be a worthy rival to big-names like ushiwaka, like tobio, like shouyou.

and now atsumu.

he’ll take it for what it is: a compliment.

atsumu gives him a look so charged that tooru cannot even begin to describe it then moves to serve again. this time, argentina’s libero receives it perfectly and tooru returns it in kind.

>>>>>

he’s incredible, atsumu realizes. no, _realize_ isn’t quite the right word, because atsumu can’t realize something that he has already known. or maybe he is realizing, not that oikawa is an incredible player — that’s a given — but that oikawa is incredible. period, end of sentence.

there was a time in his life when atsumu was sure that he and osamu were destined to play volleyball together, forever. it’s silly and childish and he would never admit it to samu ever, but the idea of them playing professionally, side-by-side, the numbers seven and eleven together and never split apart, was an image so vivid in atsumu’s mind for so long. then osamu dreamt his own dreams and atsumu altered his and now they are still together, though not side-by-side.

it may have been a pipe dream in the end, but to be so sure of something sure is a nice feeling. it’s how he felt about going pro back then, it’s how he feels about oikawa tooru now.

he feels like he’s met his match. every serve he sends, every spike he sets up, all of it is countered by oikawa. they move in tandem, but they move against one another. it’s weird, because it’s familiar, yet different. atsumu is used to having someone there to read his mind without words, with just a ball and a court and a shared goal. but he’s not used to having it work against him. atsumu has a brief, alarming thought that he and oikawa would make a great team, but he doesn’t think he could ever consider them a pair. after all, they’re both setters, so they could never truly play together on the court. and yet, atsumu thinks they could stand on it, side-by-side. is it possible to, with 18 meters and a net between you?

he’s destined to play against oikawa, he’s sure of it. he’s never felt more restless, more desperate, more in love while playing volleyball than he does right now.

_oh_ , atsumu realizes. _this is how it is for shouyou and tobio._

it’s incredible.

>>>>>

tooru can’t stop smiling.

atsumu is good. honestly, that’s a bit of an understatement, but it’s all the praise tooru’s pride can muster up at the moment. anything else and tooru will physically combust from the sheer amount of effort it would take him to admit something so openly honest about someone who is essentially another glorified tobio.

but atsumu doesn’t play like tobio. he doesn’t play volleyball like he was born to. rather, he plays it like he could do anything else in the world if he wanted to, but nothing else even comes close to the feeling it offers. he plays it like he chooses to. he plays like tooru.

it’s been a while since tooru has had this much fun.

he’s struck with the sudden realization that he doesn’t care if he wins or loses the match. he can’t help but to laugh. it’s funny, considering he spent so many years wanting nothing more than to win, and now he’s so close to it and he doesn’t even care. everyone he ever wanted to prove himself to is on the other team and yet all he can think about is how much he loves volleyball and how stupid miya atsumu’s serves are. tooru barely even registers that argentina is at their set point. the only thing in his mind is how he’s about to show atsumu what a _real_ serve looks like.

no dramatic silence. no fancy footwork.

a toss, a jump, and a spike. he sends it straight to where atsumu was, an awkward angle for the person behind atsumu to receive.

the receive ricochets the ball straight into the net before dropping to the ground with a quiet smack.

the scoreboard: argentina 32, japan 30. atsumu 1, tooru 1.

_oh_. tooru blinks. _so this is what it feels like to win_.

but tooru doesn’t really feel any different. he just won the gold medal and yet, all he really wants to do is stay on the court and play a little bit longer.

>>>>>

atsumu feels like he should be upset.

japan lost, _he_ lost. he should be sad, or maybe angry. but atsumu went to inarizaki, was raised on _“we don’t need memories,”_ so he finds that he’s not upset at all. there will be another game, after all.

but, there won’t be another game like this one. he won’t get to play oikawa again like this, with the best players behind them, with the world watching them, playing as if the meaning of life is hidden in this one measly volleyball match. even if they recreated the conditions for it perfectly, it still wouldn’t be the same. that’s the thing about memories; they’re too particular, as precise and demanding as a setter. 

atsumu doesn’t like to linger on nostalgia, but he finds he wants to play oikawa like this again and again and again. he thinks he could be happy doing it for the rest of his life.

and yet, looking at oikawa’s dazzling smile as his teammates crowd around him, whooping and hollering, he finds he wants more. maybe shouyou and tobio can do this star-crossed rivalry thing, orbiting around each other in this endless contest with no point to prove, but atsumu can’t. he loves competition, thrives on it, but more than anything, atsumu has always preferred having someone at his side.

maybe he hasn’t lost just yet.

>>>>>

tooru is _not_ drunk. he’s a professional athlete, so he takes care of his body, which means he is definitely, _absolutely_ not drunk. but he also knows how to have some fun, so he is admittedly a little bit tipsy. maybe more than a little. maybe a lot.

well, what happens in the olympic village stays in the olympic village, right? god, he hopes so.

it’s strange to be here, in this country he has called his home but is no longer, surrounded by strangers who feel like friends and friends who feel like family, wearing all his self-worth around his neck, out in the open for everyone to see. the familiar voice in his head that asks him if this is all worth it asks again. this time, tooru has a certain answer.

_yes._

“what?”

tooru blinks. miya atsumu suddenly appears in front of him, like a ghost materializing out of thin air. or maybe he was always there, tooru doesn’t know. he’s definitely tipsier than he thought. tooru grabs atsumu’s arm to steady himself. “what?”

atsumu raises an eyebrow. “i asked ya how ya felt.”

“oh.” he feels incredible, invincible, kind of impossible. “like, um, like light.” tooru says as eloquently as he can.

atsumu snorts. “yea, i’ll bet. m’not surprised, with all that alcohol yer inhaling.”

tooru pouts. “i’m not the one who’s slurring his words.”

“hey! i can’t help my accent!”

tooru giggles, then hiccups, then chokes and coughs. it’s very dramatic and very unattractive. atsumu looks like he’s having the time of his life watching tooru suffocate.

“why are you here?” tooru asks after he’s regained some sense of composure and dignity.

atsumu cocks his head to the side. “it’s an open party, ain’t it?”

“that’s not what i meant. i mean, why are you here,” tooru gestures vaguely to the area around them. “with me,” he adds lamely.

atsumu shrugs. “thought i’d introduce myself, ya know, properly.”

“no introduction needed. i received that loud and clear on the court.” atsumu barks with laughter and tooru sighs. “i was joking, by the way.”

“hm? about what?”

“the benchwarmer thing. obviously you’re not, i mean, you’re here.” tooru gestures again, this time flailing his arms as wide as possible to encompass the whole olympic village. he narrowly avoids smacking some poor guy passing by in the process. “you’re actually… good.”

atsumu laughs again, loud and clear. “ya say it like yer about to hurl.”

tooru groans. “don’t say that! i really might now that you put that thought into my head.”

“i would prefer ya don’t. these are new shoes, ya know.”

it’s not a very good joke, but tooru feels so good right now that he actually genuinely laughs at it. atsumu smiles like tooru just gave him the greatest gift in the whole world.

“yer really good too, ya know. incredible, actually.”

“oh.” tooru doesn’t really know what to say to that. it’s not that he hasn’t heard it before, or know it himself, but atsumu says it like he really means it, like he’s never been more sure of anything in his whole life. “thanks.”

atsumu hums. he looks like he’s about to say something else when one of tooru’s teammates comes over and begs tooru into joining him in a round of beer pong against the actual olympic table tennis players. tooru vehemently denies, but he gets dragged off anyway. he gets about two feet away before atsumu calls out to him.

“how long are ya gonna be in japan?”

tooru turns back, surprised. “um, a few more weeks after this is all over. to visit family, get together with some old friends…”

“let’s play together again!” atsumu says, face flushed red. tooru doesn’t think it’s from the alcohol. “and, um, maybe get lunch. my treat! i know this onigiri place that’ll give me a real good discount…”

tooru stares long enough that atsumu begins to fidget. then finally, “okay.”

atsumu freezes. “what?”

tooru grins. he seems to be doing that a lot lately. “i said sure.”

atsumu gives him a smile so bright that it puts the medal around his neck to shame. “lookin’ forward to it!”

tooru is too, just a little. maybe more than a little. maybe a lot.

**Author's Note:**

> i could be a professional hurdler with the way i avoided writing anything about the actual mechanics of volleyball or how the olympic matches actually work. where is MY gold medal, huh??????????


End file.
